


The Worst Misery of His Life

by angelgazing



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-26
Updated: 2010-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/pseuds/angelgazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan , Casey, golf and a hangover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Misery of His Life

"Casey," Dan says, around hour four of what could be accurately described as The Worst Misery of His Life (in all capital letters, for extra emphasis, and so it doesn't seem arty when he writes the book and titles it exactly that.) "There are days, my friend, like today, when I cannot stand the sight of you at all."

"Fair enough," Casey answers, with a grin that is disturbingly and devilishly bright. The big bright sun bounces off of his big bright teeth and makes Danny's head feel like he would have been better off jumping in front of the train like his instinct demanded this morning. "If you don't mind my asking," Casey says, in a way that makes it more than clear that Danny's minding would make his day just that little bit better, "is it because I am vastly superior at this, the sport of kings?"

"I'm pretty sure poker is the sport of kings."

"Horse racing is the sport of kings," Casey informs him, sternly, with a golf club sitting on his shoulder. It brings Dan some amount of comfort that Casey's wearing the whole golfing outfit. There's even a hat. He's hoping for pictures to show Natalie later. "And you're missing the point."

"Is the point how, claiming to know the true sport of kings—and I'm not ready to concede that it is, in fact, not poker—you used the phrase to describe another sport entirely?" Danny, behind his dark, dark useless sunglasses, raises an eyebrow.

"I believe the point, dear Daniel, is how I am vastly superior at the wonderful, kingly game of golf."

"Oh, how wrong you are," Danny tells him, under the dark shadow of his hangover-baseball cap. "The point is how, right now, in this very moment, I despise you more than I have ever despised another person."

"You're just saying that because you're hung over and, oh yeah, losing."

"Maybe," Danny answers, with the grass crunching under his feet and the eighteenth hole far, far, far away. "But maybe it's just because you're a bastard who got me drunk only to take advantage of me."

"I got you drunk to take advantage of you?"

"You did."

Casey stops, looks around the, thankfully empty, golf course, and shakes his head. "I swear to God, the things in your head could not frighten me more."

"I really do hate you today."


End file.
